The tunnel had become now too tiny for the barrage of truth gathering inside it, nobody could move after Ricci’s final words.
Not Lorenzo.
Not Marco.
Not even Isabella.
The air felt strained and heavy with the weight of things that had been buried for too long beneath silence, loyalty, blood, and lies. The men's voices still echoed dangerously outside the wall but none of that felt urgent… not compared to this.
Or compared to the envelope that was still resting calmly in Ricci’s hand. Lorenzo stared at it without blinking.
This was five years later.
A whole five years of believing that Isabella betrayed him.
Five years that had sharpened his rage into certainty.
Five years of carrying the memory of her disappearance like an open wound which he now disguised as hatred.
And now… al
